Eyes Open Wide
by AnnaKilljoy
Summary: Sherlock faces a series of murders, but what do they have in common?
1. Chapter 1: A Case

'Boredom.' BANG! 'Boredom.' BANG! 'Boredom.'

Before Sherlock was able to release a final shot, John caught his wrist 'Stop shooting at the damn wall!'

The tall, dark-haired man was lying on the couch, wearing his PJs. He was situated in his apartment, 221B Baker Street. The room was very messy: papers were lying spread out over the floor and there was even something that looked like a cut-off finger, but John didn't dare ask what it was there for. Besides, he'd seen stranger things: a head in the fridge and a skull Sherlock liked to talk to.

'But I'm bored!'

John sighed. 'It happens to the best of us.'

'Well, I'm better than the best! I'm the world's only consulting detective!'

John rolled his eyes. 'True. Isn't there a case, then? A murder to solve? I remember an article in the newspaper yesterday. Apparently a man has been shot.'

'Oh, it was his wife, obviously,' said Sherlock impatiently.

'How d'you–?'

'Never mind that, I want a case!'

'What about that missing parrot?'

'I don't give a damn about parrots. Besides, he flew away himself. He wasn't stolen, as his owner suggested. In fact, it was she who released it. Her husband was the only one who actually cared about the animal.'

'Oh.' John was quiet for a moment. 'Maybe you could visit the police, see if they're working on an interesting case.'

'Visit the police?' asked Sherlock incredulously. 'They'll think I need them!'

'Don't you, then?'

'Of course not! They need me! _I_'m the consulting detective!'

'You do need them to find a case.'

'No, I don't. I'm doing perfectly fine on my own, thanks.'

'What? By shooting at the wall?'

Sherlock glared at him, but didn't respond.  
>Suddenly, Lestrade came bursting into the room. Sherlock immediately sat up. 'What's happened?'<p>

'Murder.'

John swore he could hear Sherlock mutter, 'Finally!' under his breath.

Lestrade looked at Sherlock's PJs. 'What?' asked Sherlock. 'Wearing these doesn't minimize my brain capacity. Anyway, who was murdered?'

'Mr Steve Smith. He was found in his apartment, lying on his bed. Dead. But the strange thing is, there's no signs of how he was killed. No wounds, no poison in his veins, nothing.'

'Then how d'you know it's murder?' John asked. 'It could've just been a heart attack…'

'Because the murderer left a note.'

Sherlock sat up straighter, lacing his fingers together. 'A note,' he whispered. 'But why…?'

'D'you want to see the body?'

'Oh God, yes.'

...

The three of them went to a white, tall flat in the middle of London. Police cars were parked outside. 'Are they still investigating?' asked Sherlock.

'I don't think so. They went through the apartment twice, but couldn't find anything so I suggested we ask you to come over.'

'Bet they weren't pleased about that.'

'No, they weren't.' Lestrade chuckled, then led them inside. The walls were as white as the outside of the flat, and there were a lot of paintings of beautiful landscapes. John looked at them, but Sherlock swiped past him and pushed a button next to the closed doors of an elevator. After a few seconds the door slid open, revealing a small room. The three of them stepped inside. Lestrade pushed a button and the elevator began to move upwards.

When the elevator stopped moving, the door opened to reveal a small room. There was a kitchen, a couch, a dining table and a bed, with a man lying on it. Next to the bed there was a bedside table. Other than that, there wasn't much furniture, which struck John as strange. 'Was he robbed?' he asked.

'Aaargh!' sighed Sherlock. 'John, use your eyes and your mind! See what's in that corner?'

'A suitcase?'

'Exactly. The man just hadn't finished packing yet.' Sherlock moved through the room, taking everything in. His eye suddenly fell onto a bin and he threw the contents onto the floor.

'Sherlock,' said Lestrange, looking shocked. 'What the–?'

But Sherlock didn't listen. He shuffled through the bin's contents until he smiled and stood up again. 'The man left his wife and went to live here,' he stated.

'How on earth d'you know that?' asked John before he could help himself.

Sherlock turned to him, half-irritated, half-amused. 'On the bottom of the bin, there was a picture of a woman his age and it was torn apart.'

'But how d'you know he left her? Couldn't she have left him?'

'No, it was definitely him. Look, the corners of his wife's photograph are slightly worn off. That's because it used to be in this frame.' He walked over to the bedside table and showed John and Lestrade a frame containing a picture of a much younger woman than the man's former wife. 'He replaced it when he got another girlfriend.'

'But he could've got another girlfriend after his wife left him, couldn't he?'

'Yes. Except this girl already was his girlfriend before he left his wife. As you can see, the man hasn't unpacked yet, which means he hasn't been in this apartment for a long time. Yet the picture of his wife has been out of its frame for a long time: it's all covered in dust.'

'I understand,' said John.

'But what does this have to do with the murder?' asked Lestrade.

'Oh, it might be nothing,' said Sherlock brightly. 'I was merely observing and deducing.' He approached the bed, looking down at the man's corpse.

**So that was the first chapter (: I know it's a bit short, but whatever. Tell me what you think about it! **


	2. Chapter 2: The Girlfriend and the Wife

'Curious,' mumbled Sherlock.

'What's curious?' asked John.

'There really are no marks on his body.'

'Told you so,' said Lestrade rather smugly.

'What's with his eyes?' asked Sherlock, ignoring him.

'What d'you mean?'

'His eyes. They're wide open.'

'I don't know. Is that strange?'

'Yes, it is…' Sherlock stared into the man's eyes, as if expecting them to move.

'Maybe he was frightened to death?' suggested John.

'Good thinking. But no.'

'Or he was just surprised when the murderer attacked him.'

'Perhaps,' mused Sherlock. 'But as there aren't any other signs, I'd say the way his eyes are has to do with the way he was killed.' He studied the body once more. The man was bald and chubby. His nose was rather large, while his eyes were quite small. He was wearing a suit. _Clearly he'd be going out with his girlfriend that night_, thought Sherlock. He studied the man's bedside table for a moment. Apart from the photograph of the girlfriend, there was a book about one Molly Moon. Sherlock picked it up, then snorted. Just a children's fiction book. He got up and turned to Lestrade. 'D'you know where his wife lives?'

'Yes,' said Lestrade. 'Addison Road, number 21.'

'And his girlfriend?'

'I don't know.'

'Doesn't matter,' said Sherlock, picking up the photograph of the girlfriend once again and taking it out of its frame. He looked at the back. 'Phone number,' he declared triumphantly, getting out his phone and clicking in a few buttons. He held the phone to his ear.

'Hello, Leslie Campers speaking.'

'Hello. Can I visit you this afternoon?'

'Who're you?' asked Leslie suspiciously.

'A friend of your boyfriend's.'

John arched an eyebrow.

'Oh…okay, I guess.'

'Where d'you live?'

She told him the address and Sherlock nodded. 'Good. See you.' He broke the connection.

'Was it really necessary to lie?' asked John.

'Oh, yes. She wouldn't have agreed to meet me otherwise.' He turned to Lestrade. 'This note you were talking about – where is it?'

'At the police bureau. They're inspecting it.'

'Can you fetch it for me?'

'Sure. So you're going to visit the girlfriend, then?'

'No, John's going to the girlfriend. I'll be visiting the wife.'

...

'So you're a friend of Steve's?' asked Leslie. She was sitting in a red chair, while John was sitting on a black couch opposite her. Leslie lived in a small house, but unlike her boyfriend's apartment, her house wasn't empty at all. Magazines with Leslie on the front were pinned to the wall, and more such magazines were lying on the ground, accompanied by some empty beer cans. _So she's a model, _John thought.

'Yes, I am. I'm very sad about his death.'

'Your voice sounds different from the one I heard on the phone,' said Leslie.

'Oh – no, that was me. I – er –' John tried to think of an explanation, but Leslie interrupted him.

'I suppose it was my phone, then. It doesn't always work properly.'

'Yeah, must be,' said John quickly.

'So, Mr…?'

'Watson.'

'Mr Watson. Why're you here?'

'I just wanted to ask you a couple of questions. For how long have you been in a relationship with him?'

'I think it's been two years. Why d'you want to know?'

'I'm just… curious. But Steve had a wife, didn't he?'

'Yes, well, he didn't like her,' said Leslie defensively. 'It's not like I stole him from her or anything. He said he'd leave her – it took him an awful lot of time to do that, to be honest.'

'Did you know his wife well?'

'Obviously Steve didn't want her to see me, so no. Why d'you ask? D'you think it was her?'

'I don't know. Could be.'

'Why don't you go visit her, then? I haven't done anything wrong.'

'I never said you had.' John changed the subject. 'Was there ever anything strange about him?'

'Now that you mention it… Sometimes I'd ask him out, but he'd say he had something to do. I asked him about it, but he wouldn't tell me what it was. Once I went to his house to see if he was there, but he wasn't.'

'How often did this happen?'

'About once every two weeks.'

'So sometimes he went somewhere and he didn't want you to know where…' said John slowly.

'He didn't cheat on me, if that's what you think! He'd never do that!'

John thought about the man's wife and suppressed a snort. Leslie seemed to know what he was thinking and became angry. 'You're not really a friend of Steve's, are you? He never talked about you! Besides, I met all his friends – and you weren't among them!'

_Ah, _thought John. _Time to go._

_ ..._

'He probably never loved me. Didn't care about me at all,' sobbed Martha, Steve's wife. She was short and chubby with brown, curly hair. 'Still, I miss him…'

'How d'you know he never loved you?' asked Sherlock sharply.

'Well, he had a girlfriend, didn't he? All along, married to me, but messing with someone else. I haven't actually seen her, but he told me about her when he left. Now I realise she must've been his girlfriend already when we married, because some evenings he'd go away without telling me where. Then, two years ago it became even worse. First he only left once every two weeks or something, but then it became at least twice a week.'

'When did you two marry?' Sherlock leaned forward. He was sitting on a wooden chair at a table, Martha opposite him. She was sobbing quietly and her mascara was bleeding.

'Tw-twenty years ago,' she answered.

_Then the girlfriend couldn't have been Steve's girlfriend from the start, _thought Sherlock. _She looked like she was about twenty-six in that photograph, and Steve wouldn't have a really old photograph of his girlfriend in that frame._

When he pointed this out to Martha, she said, 'Then he probably had another girlfriend back then. The player.'

_Could this be? The last two years he'd gone away even more often, but this couldn't be because he had two girlfriends because I know he didn't. He had one photograph of a girl. So maybe he did have another girlfriend, but left her and got together with Leslie. Him going away a lot more the last two years could be because he went out with Leslie more often than he used to with his other girlfriend. But what if his going away the first eighteen years was something else? Maybe he still did that those last two years, but because he also went out with Leslie it seemed like he went out with her more often._

Sherlock got up. 'Thanks for your time.' As he walked out of the door, leaving a bewildered Martha behind, he glanced at a book laying on the ground. On the cover was a picture of an eye. Sherlock raised his eyebrows, then left the house and closed the door behind him.


	3. Chapter 3: The Note

When John entered 221B Baker Street, Sherlock was already there. He was studying the cut-off finger John had seen lying on the ground that morning. 'Found anything?' asked Sherlock.

'Apparently Steve sometimes went somewhere,' John said, sitting down next to Sherlock and trying not to look at the finger. 'And he wouldn't tell Leslie where.'

'I knew it!' said Sherlock triumphantly. 'He's been doing that for the last twenty years.'

'You think he has another girlfriend?'

'Nah.'

Lestrade entered the room and looked disgustedly at the finger in Sherlock's hand. 'What is _that_?'

'It's a finger,' said Sherlock calmly.

'Yeah, I noticed that.'

'Then why'd you ask?'

'I meant, 'Why are you looking at a finger?''

'I study nails. You wouldn't understand. So did you get the note?'

'Here it is,' said Lestrade, giving Sherlock a piece of paper.

Sherlock read it out loud. 'It was his own fault he died, he wouldn't tell me what I needed to know. Look out, there might be a next one.'

'A next one?' asked John.

'Murder,' said Sherlock happily. 'Oh, I love serial killers!'

'So the murderer wanted to know something and he asked Steve, but Steve wouldn't tell him?'

'Exactly. Now he's going to ask someone else, and if that person doesn't tell him what he needs to know, he'll kill him too. That's why it says there _might _be another one.'

'But why'd he leave the note?' asked John. 'If he hadn't, we wouldn't have known Steve'd been killed.'

'Because he wants us to know,' said Sherlock.

'Why would he want us to know?'

'That's the question.' Sherlock turned to Lestrade. 'I take it this has been checked for finger prints.'

'Naturally.'

'And?'

'Nothing.'

'No, I didn't think so,' mumbled Sherlock. 'Well Lestrade, you can go.'

'Any ideas yet?'

'Five, and counting. Let's hope someone else gets killed.'

'Excuse me?'

'Lestrade, think!' said Sherlock impatiently. 'If the next person the murderer visits isn't killed, that means he tells the murderer what he needs to know. I'm sure that can't be good. Also, we need more clues.'

'You're right. Still, wishing someone dies…'

'That's so him,' said John. 'Just ignore it, it's what I do.'

'And why don't you write a blog on what an idiot I am?' Sherlock suggested to Lestrade.

'What–?'

'It's what John does.'

'I don't–' began John, but Sherlock interrupted him.

'Don't worry, I don't mind. I need my blogger.' He smiled.

Lestrade left the room and Sherlock turned on the television. 'Scooby Doo,' he said. After a minute he sighed. 'Obvious. The monster's really–'

'– the pretty girl,' said John.

Sherlock looked at him. 'I'm impressed. How'd you know?'

'I've seen this episode before,' admitted John.

'Oh,' said Sherlock, turning back to the telly, where the girl was hypnotising her brother. 'Boring,' he decided, turning off the television.

'Isn't it just?' said Mycroft, entering the room.

'Oh, it's you,' said Sherlock unenthusiastically. 'What happened to knocking on the door?'

'I'm your archenemy. I don't knock.'

'Well, you should.'

'Anyway, you asked me to look out for news about Moriarty. It seems he's been spotted in London.'

Sherlock sat up straighter. 'Has he now? Where exactly?'

'In Waddington Street.'

'I see. Thanks.'

'Working on a case at the moment?' asked Mycroft conversationally.

'Yes, we are,' said John when Sherlock didn't answer.

'Really?' asked Mycroft, surprised, as if he hadn't suggested it himself. 'Not going so well, is it?'

'It's going perfectly fine,' snapped Sherlock.

'Then why're you watching Scooby Doo?'

'Because we're waiting for the next murder.'

'Though we're not sure if there's going to be one,' added John. Sherlock glared at him.

'Ah, a serial killer?' asked Mycroft. When his brother nodded he said, 'Fun.'

'What is it with you two?' muttered John.


	4. Chapter 4: A Strange Connection

The next day, there was another murder. Again, it was a man and again, his eyes were wide open. 'But there's got to be more,' said Sherlock as he peered down at the body lying on the ground. 'There has to be something else that links these two!' This murderer doesn't just choose his victims randomly. He wants to know something that these men knew! Think, John, what could both these men know that very few people know?'

'It could be anything: a secret they shared…'

'Not just a secret, an important secret. And probably dangerous. An important, dangerous secret that the murderer wants to know, and that these men knew about… Hang on, John, what were you saying again?'

'It could be anything?'

'No, after that.'

'Er – a secret they shared?'

'Shared,' said Sherlock thoughtfully. 'Maybe these men knew each other.' He turned to the dead man's wife, who was standing behind them, crying silently. She'd let them into her house after Lestrade had assured her she could trust them. 'Have you ever heard of a man called Steve Smith?'

She shook her head. 'N-no.'

'Are you sure? Could he have been a friend of your husband's?'

'N-no. I know all – all of his friends, but there's no Steve among th-them.'

'Oh,' said John, disappointed, but Sherlock asked another question.

'Was there ever anything strange about Craig?'

'Well, there was something… but it's probably n-nothing.'

'Tell me,' ordered Sherlock sharply.

'Sometimes he'd go away for an evening and he'd tell me he'd go bowling with his friends, but he forgot his key one such evening and I tried to call him, but he wouldn't answer his phone. So I called one of his friends but he told me he and the guys had never gone bowling.'

John gasped. 'That's the connection! They both – what, actually? What did they do?'

'I don't know,' said Sherlock. They left the house and walked through the city. 'But I'm sure it's why the murderer chose to ask them.'

'Maybe those times they were away, they met with the murderer and he threatened them.'

'No. He'd be upset if he was being threatened, but when I asked if there was anything strange, the woman didn't mention any strange behaviour of her husband.'

'That's true. But maybe they did meet up with the murderer those times, but he didn't actually threaten–'

'Did you notice his wife's strange behaviour?,' interrupted Sherlock. ' Another connection.'

'What d'you mean?'

'At first it seemed like she was crying, but when she told us about the bowling thing she stopped. The crying was fake. She didn't care about her husband at all.'

'Blimey,' said John. 'Both men had a difficult relationship with their wife. D'you think their wives killed them?'

'Don't be so silly, John,' Sherlock said, quickening his pace.

'Why not? In both cases, the wives were angry with their husbands!'

'And why were they angry?'

'How should I know?'

'Because of them going away without telling their wives, of course! Martha was angry because Steve went away a lot. This was because of Leslie, but also because of this other thing, whatever it is. The woman we just spoke to tried to sound casual, but when she told about her husband going away her voice sounded accusing.'

'Yeah, she was angry so she killed him.'

'It's not that simple. The murderer wanted to know–'

'–where her husband went those times!'

'No.' Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'What about the note that was written by the murderer? It was clearly one person who killed both men.'

'Maybe the two wives helped each other?'

'You know, it's actually a really clever theory.'

'Thanks!'

'But it's no more than that, a theory. The woman said she didn't know Steve Smith, and she wasn't lying. She's a really bad liar.'

'You immediately knew the woman was pretending to cry, didn't you?' asked John, sounding impressed.

'I did.'

'So what d'you think the murderer is after? A weapon?'

'Would he need a weapon, though? He can already kill in a way that leaves no traces.'

'Perhaps a more effective weapon.'

'Yes…possibly. I know one thing, though: I don't want him to find it.'


	5. Chapter 5: Anagram

'Newspaper,' ordered Sherlock as soon as John entered the room. He held out his hand. John handed it to him and sat down on a chair.

'There's nothing in there, you know,' he said. 'I skimmed it through on my way here.'

'Did you get the milk?'

'Yes.'

'And the apples?'

'Yes.'

'Good. I need milk and apples.'

'It's a shame, isn't it?' said John, seeing which article Sherlock was reading. 'The bass player of the Wild Cats leaving… I liked their music.'

'He didn't leave. He's dead.'

'Wh-what? But here it says–'

'I know what it says. They don't want the fans to be upset, so they try to keep it a secret. I bet the truth will be out tomorrow, anyway.'

John shook his head. 'I still don't understand how you do it.'

'I observe, John. There was a Wild Cats concert on the television last week. You should've seen it, anyone could see he was ill. White as a vampire–'

'He always looked like that.'

'Yes, he's been ill for a long time. It had to happen sometime.' Sherlock looked at the article below the one about the bass player and frowned.

'Oh, come on, not every death is a murder,' laughed John when he saw what Sherlock was looking at. 'That man – what's his name again? Oh yeah – Clive Yomarti probably just died of a heart attack or an illness–'  
>But Sherlock wasn't listening to him; he got up and ran out of the room.<p>

'Great,' said John to himself. 'Never explains, does he?' He walked up to the fridge to put the milk in it. His heart skipped a beat when he opened it. 'Still got that head then, does he? What exactly is it about cut-off body parts that he likes?' John put the milk next to the head and walked back into the living room. He picked up the newspaper and read the article about the death of Clive Yomarti.

_MAN FOUND DEAD IN BEDROOM_

_Last night, Clive Yomarti was found dead in his room. His brother was the one who found him.  
>'I was staying at his house this weekend. Everything was going fine until I entered his room yesterday. There were no signs of how he could have died so it can't have been murder.'<em>

John stopped reading. Was that what Sherlock had noticed? 'No signs of how he could've died – except for his eyes wide open?' he wondered aloud. 'But where did Sherlock go, then? There's no address stated in this article. Maybe he went to the police?' But John didn't think that very likely. John looked at the article again and his eyes widened. 'No way,' he whispered. 'Yomarti – Moriarty! It's an anagram! That must've been what Sherlock saw!'

He left the house and headed for the police headquarters. When he arrived there, he went to Molly. 'Hey, d'you remember Jim?'

Molly pulled a face. 'You mean the gay psychopath?'

'Yeah, that one.'

'Of course I do. What of him?'

'D'you have any idea where he lives?'

'Not really… But when I dated him he stayed at his brother's house.'

'Where's that?'

'Waddington Street, number eight.'

_That's where Mycroft said Moriarty had been sighted!_ thought John. 'Thanks,' he said to Molly, and he went on his way to Waddington Street. While walking, he read the article again. _So his brother's dead. There's a big chance Moriarty's behind this all, then. Would he kill his brother?_

When he arrived in Waddington Street, he went to number eight. It was a normal house: not small and not big. From the outside, John could see there were three floors. There was a window next to the wooden door and John tried to look through it, but there were curtains blocking his view. He didn't dare move them in fear of being seen.  
>The garden John was standing in was big and you could walk past the house to arrive in the back garden. John decided to do that. When he arrived at the other side of the house, his heart skipped a beat. There was someone sitting in the garden, crouching by the back door!<p>

'Sherlock,' breathed John, relieved.

'Shush! He's in there!' whispered Sherlock urgently.

John sat down on the ground next to Sherlock and peered through the glass door. He could see Jim Moriarty sitting on a couch with his back towards them.

'You figured it out, then!' said Sherlock, sounding impressed.

'Yeah, I did. D'you think Moriarty's behind all this?'

'I do. It's too much of a coincidence, his brother dying.'

'Why don't you burst in and arrest him, then?'

'We have no proof, John. Besides, I don't have any weapons.'

'Why didn't Lestrade tell us to investigate this murder, too?'

'Moriarty tried to make sure everyone thought it was a heart attack. They didn't mention the wide eyes in the article, did they?'

'Sherlock, have you realised it's too easy? Why use an anagram, why not change the name completely?'

'Oh, isn't it obvious? Another reason why I'm sure Moriarty's behind this: he's trying to get my attention. That also explains why he left a note with the first corpse.'

'So it's a game all over again? A game of him against you.'

'It is.'

John sighed. 'What's wrong with that guy?' When Sherlock didn't answer, he asked, 'Why're we here? The body's probably gone already.'

'To look for proof. Also, I want to know how Moriarty's brother fits in. How he's connected to the others.'

Suddenly, Moriarty got up from the couch. John wanted to duck, thinking Moriarty was going to turn around, but the consulting criminal walked away from them, around a corner. Sherlock got up, too. 'Let's go.'


	6. Chapter 6: A Sudden Appearance

Sherlock opened the glass door and tiptoed towards the staircase in the middle of the room, John following him. Slowly they went up the stairs, trying not to make any noise. The steps creaked slightly beneath their feet, but they managed to arrive at the second floor without being discovered. They were standing in a small corridor with four doors. John looked at all of them, but Sherlock immediately opened the door on the far left, which turned out to be the room of Moriarty's brother. John had the feeling Sherlock had already known this before opening the door.

The room they entered was very tidy and clean. The walls were white. There was a bed, an empty bedside table, a book chest containing a few books and a desk, which was also empty.

'You won't find a lot here,' John noted.

'I'll find what I want to find,' said Sherlock, moving towards the book chest. 'Ah!' He took a book out of the chest.

John looked at it more closely and saw it was a diary. 'You can't read that!' he exclaimed. 'It's private!'

'John, the guy's dead. Besides, I'm not going to read all of it. As if I care about his thoughts and feelings. No, I just need to know if he suspected anything before he died.' He opened the diary and turned the pages until he arrived at the last page. 'Ha!' he said triumphantly.

'What?' asked John.

'_I think my brother's up to something and, knowing him, it can't be good. But this is different. This could endanger us all. I have to stop him,_' Sherlock read aloud in a dramatic voice. 'That was it.'

'That doesn't really help us, does it? Well, now we're sure Moriarty's behind this, but–'

'Quiet!' ordered Sherlock, looking around the room for more clues.

Meanwhile, John moved towards the window. 'Sherlock?'

'Not now, John, I'm busy!'

'No, but this is not good. There's a note here, on the window.'

Sherlock froze and then ran towards the window, snatching the note from the window. _So you've found me, as I thought you would. Hurray. And what now?  
><em>  
>'That's the same handwriting as the writing on the note that was found next to the first body!' realised John.<p>

But Sherlock wasn't listening. He quickly turned around – to find Moriarty standing in the doorway, grinning widely.  
>'Didn't you think it was a bit too easy? Seriously, even if I hadn't known you'd be visiting me, I would've heard you going up the stairs. I'm not deaf.'<p>

'You lured us here,' nodded Sherlock. 'Yeah, I thought so. Why else anagramming your name?'

'Why're you trying to get our attention, though?' asked John.

'I like to play games.'

'And no one else is smart enough for you, am I right?'

'Exactly.' Moriarty turned to Sherlock. 'D'you know _why _I want to play games with you?'

'Do tell me,' said Sherlock, though he already knew the answer.

'Because I was bored. You and I – we're quite alike, don't you think?'

'Not at all. We're polar opposites, we are.'

'You know that's not true. We're like each other: smarter than others and bored out of our minds… We've only got each other.'

'Moriarty, you should know, I consider myself married to my job–'

A smile spread across Moriarty's face. 'Oh, I'm not asking you out, if that's what you think. I'm merely explaining why you and I are destined to hate each other.'

John saw Sherlock was busy unlocking the window behind him, and realised the consulting detective had a plan. Wanting to distract Moriarty, he asked, 'What is it you're after?'

'What d'you mean?' asked Moriarty innocently.

'We know you're not killing these men for no reason. What d'you want?'

'Why should I tell you?'

'Because I may be able to help you.'

Moriarty smirked. 'I don't think so. But if you want to join the others in the land of the dead–'

'NOW!' shouted Sherlock, pushing open the window and jumping out of it. It was exhilarating: the wind was blowing in his face and he felt light-headed. Then, he hit the ground and his feet gave away. His whole body ached, but he got up and started running, John following him. They could hear gunshots from the room they'd jumped from. Sherlock glanced behind him and saw Moriarty was shooting at them, looking frustrated.

Only when they were sure they were safe, Sherlock and John slowed down.

'So did you find out what connects Steve, Craig and Clive?'

'Perhaps…' mused Sherlock. John could see he was thinking, so he decided not to disturb the consulting detective.

**So that was chapter 6 (: Next chapter will be up soon!  
>RhiannaNekozawa, thanks for reviewing! <strong>


	7. Chapter 7: The Secret Room

**New chapter! **

'What was his name again?' asked Sherlock.

'Ronnie White,' answered Lestrade.

Sherlock, John and Lestrade were walking through London, on their way to Ronnie White's house. 'So that's four murders now,' said John. 'Any ideas yet, Sherlock?'

'Yes… I think so.'

'And?'

'Oh, I won't tell you yet. I need more evidence.'

...

A few minutes later they arrived at their destination. A woman opened the door and let them into the living room. They weren't the only ones there: a few other people were investigating the scene.  
>The woman's husband was lying on the couch, his eyes wide open. As Sherlock looked at the corpse, his eye fell onto a book the man was clutching. On the cover of the book was a picture of an eye. Meanwhile, John asked, 'So did your husband ever go somewhere without telling you why?'<p>

'Yes, he did! How d'you know that?'

'It doesn't matter. Can you tell me anymore about it?'

'He'd say he was going out with some friends, but on one such evening I saw him sneak into our garage with a couple of men I didn't know.'

Sherlock immediately looked up. 'Your garage?'

'Yes. D'you want to see it?'

'Yes, please.'

The woman led them outside, into the garden. There was a large building next to the house. They entered it to find themselves in an empty room. 'No car,' noted Sherlock.

'No, me and my husband don't drive.'

'Then why build a garage? Obviously you built it, as it's very new.'

'I don't know. My husband wanted to, so I let him.'

'Sherlock,' said John, stepping inside the garage. 'This building seems bigger on the outside.'

'I know, John,' smiled Sherlock. 'I think I've figured it out now.'

'What have you figured out?' asked Lestrade.

'Everything. Well, almost everything.'

'Any chance you'll ever tell us?'

'Of course. Let's start with the beginning, shall we? Moriarty wants something. What exactly he wants, I don't know yet. But I do know what connects these men. Hypnotism.'

'Hypnotism?'

'These men all loved hypnotism, so they started a group and learned to hypnotize together. But they didn't want anyone to know, so they met up secretly once every two weeks to practice their hypnotism.'

'How d'you know this?'

'The first man had a children's book lying on his bedside table. But why? He didn't have any children, and why would an adult be interested in children's books? Because it was about hypnotism.  
>When I met the first man's wife, I saw a book with an eye on the cover lying on the ground. I didn't pay much attention to it until I saw the man we just saw was clutching the same book. It was about hypnotism. So what Moriarty wants has to do with hypnotism, that's why he asked the men in this group. But he can already do some hypnotism – he can kill with it. This book–' Sherlock showed them the book with the eye on the cover, which he'd taken with him, '–says the symptoms of killing with hypnotism are wide eyes.'<p>

'But if that's possible, 'said John slowly, 'to kill with hypnotism, I mean – why don't more people do it?'

'Because they don't know it's possible. Besides, it's difficult. People with even a bit of goodness in their hearts wouldn't be able to do it.'

'So Moriarty wants something that has to do with hypnotism so he asks these men, but they won't tell him so he kills them. And the members of this group were Steve Smith, Craig Johnson, Moriarty's brother and Ronnie White?'

'No. Moriarty's brother wasn't in it. He was killed because he found out what his brother was doing. And I think there may be more members, but I don't know who they are.'

'So where did this group meet?' asked Lestrade.

'Why, isn't it obvious?' said Sherlock, walking to the far end of the garage and moving his hands over the wall until he found what he was looking for: a small gap. He put his fingers in the gap and pulled. A door opened, revealing a small room containing a table, chairs and a lot of books. It was a very dark room with wooden walls. Sherlock entered the room and looked at the piece of paper pinned to the wall. 'Members,' he read aloud. 'Craig Johnson, Matt MacDonald, Steve Smith, Ronnie White.'

'So there's one more member – Matt MacDonald,' said John.

'Yes. And we have to prevent him from telling Moriarty what he wants to know.'

'And we have to prevent Moriarty from killing him.'

'Yeah – that, too.'

'Wh-what is this?' asked Ronnie's wife as she entered the room. 'This is impossible!'

'Obviously it isn't,' said Sherlock impatiently. 'So stop wasting my time. Now, d'you have a telephone book?'

'Y-yes,' said the woman shakily.

'Then go get it!'

The woman jumped at Sherlock's snappy tone and quickly left.

'Did you have to be rude?' asked John.

'She was annoying,' Sherlock replied.

When the woman returned, she was holding a telephone book. Sherlock grabbed it out of her hands without thanking her. He turned the pages quickly. 'Matt MacDonald… There're more people with that name!'

'That one lives in London, though,' said John, pointing at one of them.

'Of course! John, I could kiss you! Not that I will,' he added quickly. 'I don't think Sarah'll like that. Are you coming?'

'Where?'

'We're going to pay Matt MacDonald a visit.'

**Thanks again RhiannaNekozawa for reviewing :D  
>And thanks to all of you who added my story to their Alerts or Favourites (: <strong>


	8. Chapter 8: Plan

When they arrived at Matt MacDonald's house, however, they were disappointed to see there was no one home. 'Maybe he fled after having realised all the others were murdered,' suggested John as they peered through the window.

'Maybe,' Sherlock agreed, 'but he'd be wasting his time. Moriarty will find him anyway.'

They waited for a long time, but nothing happened. 'What if he's been killed already?' asked John nervously.

Another hour passed. 'I have to go, or my wife will wonder where I am,' said Lestrade.

Sherlock didn't respond, but kept looking through the window. 'See you,' said John.

When Lestrade had left, Sherlock suddenly turned around and walked up to a lamppost. There was a note pasted to it, saying, _I thought you'd want to go here, but this isn't where it's going to happen. Be sure to keep tabs, though. _  
>'How'd you know it was there?' asked John.<p>

'I saw its reflection in the mirror in the house,' answered Sherlock.

'So the murder's not going to take place here? And what the hell does 'be sure to keep tabs' mean?'

'We're not sure there's going to be a murder, John, but you're right. And I think it means the newspaper.'

'What?'

'We've already seen Moriarty can control the newspaper to try to get our attention. He'll probably do it again.'

...

The two of them returned to 221B Baker Street, where Mrs. Hudson was waiting with hot chocolate. 'Thanks,' said John as he accepted the cup.

'Just this once, dear – I'm your landlady, not your housekeeper!'

'Have you got today's newspaper?' asked Sherlock, placing his cup on the table without even glancing on it. Mrs. Hudson looked slightly hurt, but she left to fetch the newspaper. When she returned, Sherlock snatched it from her and read it through. After a few minutes he shook his head. 'Nothing yet.'

'Can I–?' asked John, reaching for the newspaper, but Sherlock put it on the table. 'I told you, there's nothing in there.'

'Yes, but I just wanted to check–'

'There's nothing, John!'

'Fine,' sighed John. 'You don't need to be so snappy. Is it because Moriarty seems to be smarter than you?'

'He's not!'

John quickly shut up.

...

The next day, John went out to buy a newspaper. When he entered 221B Baker Street, Sherlock immediately snatched it from his hands. He turned the pages until he arrived at a page containing advertisements. 'Yomarti!' he suddenly shouted.

'What? Where? What does it say?' asked John excitedly.

'_Yomarti to MacDonald: don't run unless you want to see your friends again. Tomorrow, 19:00, the place where it all began_.'

'See your friends again? Does he mean–?'

'Die, yes. He's threatening MacDonald.'

'And tomorrow they'll meet somewhere… The place where it all began…'

'The secret room,' said Sherlock. 'That's where the hypnotizers began. We'll have to hide there.'

'Sherlock? You do realise Moriarty _wants _you to come, don't you?'

'Of course I do,' snapped Sherlock. 'But what d'you want me to do? Wait here while he threatens the MacDonald guy?'

'No, but… We need a plan.'

'Agreed. Something he won't expect.'

'Something he won't expect _you _to do…' A grin appeared on John's face.

...

Some hours later they were in the secret room, bugging it. 'That way we'll have proof,' Sherlock had explained. In the end, he'd reluctantly agreed with John's plan and they were now busy preparing. Sherlock looked around the room. 'Where can I hide?'

'What d'you mean 'I'? I'll accompany you!' said John.

'Fine, where can _we_ hide?'

'In that cupboard over there?'

'Isn't that a bit obvious?'

'Yes, but the rest of our plan isn't obvious. We want him to think we're doing exactly what he wants us to do.'

'Okay, the cupboard it is. I think we're ready, don't you? We'll go into the cupboard tomorrow at eleven in the morning.'

'That early?' complained John.

'Like you said, John, he'll be expecting us to be here. We don't know at what time he'll arrive, but we want to be earlier than him.'

'All right,' said John, trying to sound confident. He was nervous, though. Their plan seemed perfect, but Moriarty was cunning. Would they be able to stop him?

**I know I'm mean, not telling you what John's plan is (a). But you'll find out soon enough! **


	9. Chapter 9: The Truth

'Ow! Can you try not to step on my toe?'

'If you could take your elbow out of my eye!'

'This cupboard wasn't so ideal after all,' admitted John. He and Sherlock were squashed inside and it was very uncomfortable. 'But the worst is we have to stay in here for eight hours!'

'Well, if you'd rather be murdered by Moriarty, go ahead.'

'Can't you try to move a bit to the right?'

'I can't just go through solid material!' exclaimed Sherlock. 'I'm not a ghost.'

John changed the subject. 'I'm hungry. D'you have anything to eat?'

'…No, I forgot.'

'Oh well, it must be easy for you to forget that us mere mortals need food,' said John sarcastically.

'I can't bother to think about food when we're about to capture Moriarty.'

Suddenly, the cupboard opened and Sherlock and John jumped, but it was only Ronnie White's wife. 'D'you want any toast?' she asked.

'Woman, we're busy and we've got no time for toast,' said Sherlock, but John gratefully accepted the food. 'You wouldn't happen to have any juice, would you?' he asked with his mouth full. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

'Of course, I'll go get you some,' she said. 'For you too, Sherlock?'

'Might as well,' mumbled Sherlock. John grinned.

When they were content, Sherlock closed the door again. 'Now we have to concentrate,' he said.

...

Time passed slowly, and they quickly grew bored. When, at last, they heard a sound, they both sat up straight. Sherlock accidentally poked John in the eye and John had to grind his teeth together to prevent himself from making a sound.  
>Someone was walking into the room. His footsteps sounded unsteady. 'He's frightened,' whispered Sherlock. 'This must be Matt MacDonald.'<p>

The footsteps stopped and they heard MacDonald sitting down on a chair, breathing heavily. John wanted to ask Sherlock what the time was, but he didn't dare talk.

Suddenly, a voice said, 'It was brave of you to come.' It was Moriarty.

John heard Matt jump up. 'Wh-what d'you want?' he asked fearfully.

'I merely wish to ask you something.'

'And th-then kill me?'

'Not if you answer my question.'

'Wh-which is?'

'I know you and your friends were a group of hypnotizers. You studied it once every two weeks, and even found out how to kill with hypnotism – not that you used that knowledge, of course. But there's something else. Something you accidentally came across. A way to control or kill a lot of people at the same time.'

John gasped, but Sherlock glared at him. _So this was what Moriarty wants, _he thought. _To control the world._

'Tell me how to do it.'

'N-no.'

'What's that?' Moriarty laughed coldly at something Matt was doing. 'You're trying to kill me with hypnotism? Both you and I know you can't. You have to _want _to kill. You need to have the power.'

Sherlock realised he knew enough and opened the cupboard door, stepping out of it and pointing his gun at Moriarty, who whirled around. 'Killing people isn't having power, Moriarty. It's being weak.'

'Sherlock!' said Moriarty in fake surprise. 'And John too! How… surprising!'

'You've been arrested, Moriarty.'

Moriarty laughed his cold laugh again. 'And you expect me to come with you willingly? Then you don't really know me.' He took some sort of necklace from his pocket.

'Hang on,' said John. 'Isn't that what hypnotizers use?'

'Very good, John,' said Moriarty. 'Except most of those don't actually work. Steve Smith, however, managed to find one that did work, and he and his friends used it. Until I stole it.'

'So that's your weapon?' asked Sherlock. 'Ingenious. But you want more.'

'Oh, yes. Killing's not enough. I want total control.'

'You won't get it.'

'Oh no? You can't stop me, Sherlock.'

'Yes, I can.' And Sherlock lunged forward, trying to grab the necklace. But Moriarty moved his hand away and took hold of Sherlock's arm. 'Die,' he whispered, letting the necklace swing in front of Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock wanted to look away, but found himself unable to move. He felt the energy leaving his body and he knew he was going to die–

But John bumped into Moriarty and grabbed the necklace. He pulled Sherlock upright. Sherlock was still really weak, so John took the gun from his hand and pointed it at Moriarty. 'You're weaponless,' he said. 'So don't try anything funny.'

Moriarty froze and John looked towards Sherlock to see if he was all right. This was a mistake: Moriarty lunged forward and pulled on the necklace in John's hand. But Sherlock had regained his strength and approached Moriarty, taking hold of the necklace in his hand. They both pulled on it with as much strength as they could muster – and it snapped in two. '_What've you done?_' exclaimed Moriarty. 'There may not be any more of those! This is the end of real hypnotism!'

'Good,' said Sherlock.

Suddenly, Moriarty dived towards the ground. Too late, John realised he'd dropped his gun. When Moriarty got back up, he was pointing the gun at Sherlock and John. 'Stay there,' he warned, backing away towards the door. He left the room, then shut the door and ran away. Matt MacDonald sighed in relief.

Sherlock and John grinned at each other. 'He really thinks he can escape, doesn't he?' said Sherlock, satisfied.

John nodded. 'You have to admit it was a good idea to have the police surround the building as soon as Moriarty was inside it. Moriarty wouldn't expect you to work together with them.'

They exited the garage to find Moriarty being handcuffed by Lestrade. 'Don't you think you've got rid of me, Sherlock Holmes!' yelled Moriarty. 'I'll find you!'

**An epilogue will be up soon (: Tell me what you think! **


	10. Epilogue

'Have you seen the front page?' asked John, tossing the newspaper towards Sherlock, who caught it. 'Moriarty has–'

'–escaped, yes, I know,' said Sherlock. 'It was only a matter of time.'

'You have to be careful,' warned John. 'He's even more angry with you now.'

'He'll probably play a game with me again,' sighed Sherlock. 'Will he ever stop?'

John changed the subject. 'D'you think there's any more of those necklaces?'

'Perhaps. Let's just hope Moriarty will never find another one.'

'You know, before all this I didn't believe in hypnotism. I thought it was just nonsense.'

'It _is _just nonsense, John. The exception proves the rule.'

'Yeah, I guess you're right. I never would've thought of hypnotism, even though there were those books on hypnotism and all.'

'When you've eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.'

John grinned. _Life with Sherlock – it's never boring._

**Just a small epilogue telling you this isn't really the end of Moriarty.  
>I don't think he'd be defeated this easily, do you? xD. <strong>


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